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Dwnload Full Recruitment and Selection in Canada 7th Edition Catano Solutions Manual PDF
Dwnload Full Recruitment and Selection in Canada 7th Edition Catano Solutions Manual PDF
Dwnload Full Recruitment and Selection in Canada 7th Edition Catano Solutions Manual PDF
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ano-solutions-manual/
CHAPTER 2
Foundations of Recruitment and Selection I:
Reliability and Validity
If Nothing Else, Students Should Learn That:
personnel recruitment and selection strategies based on information obtained through
scientific methods are more likely to benefit an organization than decisions based on
impressions or intuition.
the basic concepts of reliability and validity underlie contemporary recruitment and selection
practices.
different research methods and psychological measurement tools assist HR professionals in
personnel selection.
Learning Outcomes:
Understand the basic components that make up a traditional personnel selection model.
[Understand]
Explain the concepts of reliability and validity. [Understand]
Recognize the importance and necessity of establishing the reliability and validity of
measures used in personnel selection. [Apply]
Identify common strategies that are used to provide evidence on the reliability and validity of
measures used in personnel selection. [Remember, Understand]
Discuss the requirement for measures used in personnel selection to evaluate applicants
fairly and in an unbiased fashion. [Apply]
Describe the practical steps needed to develop a legally defensible selection system.
[Remember]
Group Discussion
Short opening vignette: Ask students to review the “Sham Psychometric Test” controversy
at the beginning of the chapter. Break up the class into groups of three or four and have
each group discuss the consequences of using a test that may or may not be valid. Review
the issues of validity and reliability and discuss how they relate to the hiring process. Each
group should choose a leader to communicate the responses that were discussed in the small
groups.
In pairs or small groups, have students discuss a time when they experienced bias. Ask them
to think of the first week of class and their first impressions of their teachers and/or peers.
What biases were operating at that time? You can also discuss your first impressions of your
students.
In groups of three or four, ask students to discuss an ethical situation they have encountered
at work. Have them describe the situation and how the situation was handled. When
students share their experiences in a large group discussion, interesting discussions will
follow.
Text Review
Review Figure 2.5, Validation Strategies, and compare the different types of validation
strategies. It is important to be able to distinguish among these strategies to make informed
HR decisions about testing instruments.
Review Figure 2.6, An Example of Range Restriction, and discuss.
Student Activities
Direct students to Figure 2.1, Job Analysis, Selection, and Criterion Measurements of
Performance: A Systems Approach, to review the steps involved in hiring a police
constable. Ask the following questions: What are some of the major elements of the
process? What questions do you have? Also ask students to review each of the steps in the
selection process for the Toronto police in Recruitment and Selection Today 2.1.
Provide students with three columns of made-up data in a spreadsheet: one for cognitive
ability scores, one for emotional intelligence scores, and one for performance. Here is an
example:
Using spreadsheet software (e.g., Excel) ask students to: 1. create a scatterplot of the data; 2.
calculate a correlation between IQ scores and EQ scores; 3. calculate a correlation between
IQ scores and performance; 4. calculate a correlation between EQ scores and performance;
and 5. interpret the scores.
ON A JURY.
Year after year, and term after term, the great case of Table Mountain
Tunnel vs. New York Tunnel, used to be called in the Court held at Sonora,
Tuolumne County. The opposing claims were on opposite sides of the great
mountain wall, which here described a semicircle. When these two claims
were taken up, it was supposed the pay streak followed the Mountain’s
course; but it had here taken a freak to shoot straight across a flat formed by
the curve. Into this ground, at first deemed worthless, both parties were
tunnelling. The farther they tunnelled, the richer grew the pay streak. Every
foot was worth a fortune. Both claimed it. The law was called upon to settle
the difficulty. The law was glad, for it had then many children in the county
who needed fees. Our lawyers ran their tunnels into both of these rich
claims, nor did they stop boring until they had exhausted the cream of that
pay streak. Year after year, Table Mountain vs. New York Tunnel Company
was tried, judgment rendered first for one side and then for the other, then
appealed to the Supreme Court, sent back, and tried over, until, at last, it
had become so encumbered with legal barnacles, parasites, and cobwebs,
that none other than the lawyers knew or pretended to know aught of the
rights of the matter. Meantime, the two rival companies kept hard at work,
day and night. Every ounce over the necessary expense of working their
claims and feeding and clothing their bodies, went to maintain lawyers. The
case became one of the institutions of the county. It outlived several judges
and attorneys. It grew plethoric with affidavits and other documentary
evidence. Men died, and with their last breath left some word still further to
confuse the great Table Mountain vs. New York Tunnel case. The county
town throve during this yearly trial. Each side brought a small army of
witnesses, who could swear and fill up any and every gap in their respective
chains of evidence. It involved the history, also, of all the mining laws made
since “ ’49.” Eventually, jurors competent to try this case became very
scarce. Nearly every one had “sat on it,” or had read or heard or formed an
opinion concerning it, or said they had. The Sheriff and his deputies
ransacked the hills and gulches of Tuolumne for new Table Mountain vs.
New York Tunnel jurors. At last, buried in an out-of-the-way gulch, they
found me. I was presented with a paper commanding my appearance at the
county town, with various pains and penalties affixed, in case of refusal. I
obeyed. I had never before formed the twelfth of a jury. In my own
estimation, I rated only as the twenty-fourth. We were sworn in: sworn to
try the case to the best of our ability; it was ridiculous that I should swear to
this, for internally I owned I had no ability at all as a juror. We were put in
twelve arm-chairs. The great case was called. The lawyers, as usual, on
either side, opened by declaring their intentions to prove themselves all
right and their opponents all wrong. I did not know which was the plaintiff,
which the defendant. Twenty-four witnesses on one side swore to
something, to anything, to everything; thirty-six on the other swore it all
down again. They thus swore against each other for two days and a half.
The Court was noted for being an eternal sitter. He sat fourteen hours per
day. The trial lasted five days. Opposing counsel, rival claimants, even
witnesses, all had maps, long, brilliant, parti-colored maps of their claims,
which they unrolled and held before us and swung defiantly at each other.
The sixty witnesses testified from 1849 up to 1864. After days of such
testimony, as to ancient boundary lines and ancient mining laws, the
lawyers on either side, still more to mystify the case, caucused the matter
over and concluded to throw out about half of such testimony as being
irrelevant. But they could not throw it out of our memories. The “summing
up” lasted two days more. By this time, I was a mere idiot in the matter. I
had, at the start, endeavored to keep some track of the evidence, but they
managed to snatch every clue away as fast as one got hold of it. We were
“charged” by the judge and sent to the jury room. I felt like both a fool and
a criminal. I knew I had not the shadow of an opinion or a conclusion in the
matter. However, I found myself not alone. We were out all night. There
was a stormy time between the three or four jurymen who knew or
pretended to know something of the matter. The rest of us watched the
controversy, and, of course, sided with the majority. And, at last, a verdict
was agreed upon. It has made so little impression on my mind that I forget
now whom it favored. It did not matter. Both claims were then paying well,
and this was a sure indication that the case would go to the Supreme Court.
It did. This was in 1860. I think it made these yearly trips up to 1867. Then
some of the more obstinate and combative members of either claim died,
and the remainder concluded to keep some of the gold they were digging
instead of paying it out to fee lawyers. The Table Mountain vs. New York
Tunnel case stopped. All the lawyers, save two or three, emigrated to San
Francisco or went to Congress. I gained but one thing from my experience
in the matter—an opinion. It may or may not be right. It is that juries in
most cases are humbugs.
CHAPTER XXII.
PROSPECTING.
HIGH LIFE.
The “Company” died its peaceful death where I brought up when the
horse was demanded of me in Eureka Valley, some 8,000 feet above the sea
level, at Dave Hays’ mountain ranch and tavern on the Sonora and Mono
road. This was a new road built by the counties of Stanislaus, Tuolumne
and Mono to rival the Placerville route, then crowded with teams carrying
merchandise to Virginia City. The Mono road cost three years of labor, and
was a fine piece of work. It ran along steep mountain sides, was walled in
many places fifteen or twenty feet in height for hundreds of yards, crossed
creeks and rivers on a number of substantial bridges, and proved, like many
another enterprise undertaken in California, a failure. In Eureka Valley I
spent the winter of 1864-65. I had the company of two men, Dave Hays and
Jack Welch, both good mountaineers, good hunters, good miners,
ranchmen, hotel-keepers, good men and true at anything they chose to turn
their hands to. Both are deserving of a fair share of immortal fame. Hays
had most of his toes frozen off at the second joint a winter or two afterward,
as he had become over-confident and thought he could risk anything in the
mountains. He was belated one winter night crossing the “Mountain Brow,”
distant some forty miles east of Eureka Valley. Over the “Brow” swept the
coldest of winds, and Hays betook himself for shelter to a sort of cave, and
when he emerged in the morning he was as good as toeless. In point of
weather the Sierra summits are fearfully deceitful. You may cross and find
it as fair as an October day in New England. In two hours a storm may
come up, the air be filled with fine minute particles of snow blown from the
surrounding peaks, and these striking against you like millions on millions
of fine needle-points will carry the heat from your body much faster than
the body can generate it. I was once nearly frozen to death in one of these
snow-driving gales when less than three miles from our house. Hays built
the house we lived in and it would have been a credit to any architect. It
was fifty feet in length by eighteen in width, and made of logs, squared and
dovetailed at the ends. It was intended for a “road house.” Hays was
landlord, cook, chambermaid, and barkeeper. I have known him to cook a
supper for a dozen guests and when they were bestowed in their blankets,
there being no flour for breakfast, he would jump on horseback and ride to
Niagara creek, twelve miles distant, supply himself and ride back to cook
the breakfast.
When the winter set in at Eureka Valley, and it set in very early, it
commenced snowing. It never really stopped snowing until the next spring.
There were intervals of more or less hours when it did not snow, but there
was always snow in the air; always somewhere in the heavens that grayish-
whitey look of the snow cloud; always that peculiar chill and smell, too,
which betoken snow. It snowed when we went to bed; it was snowing when
we got up; it snowed all day, or at intervals during the day; it was ever
monotonously busy, busy; sometimes big flakes, sometimes little flakes
coming down, down, down; coming deliberately straight down, or driving
furiously in our faces, or crossing and recrossing in zigzag lines. The snow
heavens seemed but a few feet above the mountain-tops; they looked heavy
and full of snow, and gave one a crushing sensation. We seemed just
between two great bodies of snow, one above our heads, one lying on the
ground.
Our house, whose ridge-pole was full eighteen feet from the ground,
began gradually to disappear. At intervals of three or four days it was
necessary to shovel the snow from the roof, which would otherwise have
been crushed in. This added to the accumulation about us. Snow covered up
the windows and mounted to the eaves. The path to the spring was through
a cut high above our heads. That to the barn was through another similar.
Snow all about us lay at an average depth of eight feet. Only the sloping
roof of the house was visible, and so much in color did it assimilate with the
surrounding rocks, pines, and snow that one unacquainted with the locality
might have passed within a few feet of it without recognizing it as a human
residence.
December, January, February, and March passed, and we heard nothing
from the great world outside of and below us. We arose in the morning,
cooked, ate our breakfast, got out fencing stuff till dinner time, going and
returning from our work on snowshoes, and digging in the snow a pit large
enough to work in. We ate our noon beans, returned to work, skated back to
the house by half-past two to get in firewood for the night, and at half-past
three or four the dark winter’s day was over, and we had fifteen hours to
live through before getting the next day’s meagre allowance of light, for
Eureka Valley is a narrow cleft in the mountains not over a quarter of a mile
in width, and lined on either side by ridges 1,500 to 2,000 feet in height.
The sun merely looked in at the eastern end about nine A.M., said “good
day,” and was off again. We rolled in sufficient firewood every night to
supply any civilized family for a week. Two-thirds of the caloric generated
went up our chimney. It did not have far to go, either. The chimney was
very wide and very low. At night a person unacquainted with the country
might have tumbled into the house through that chimney. The winds of
heaven did tumble into it frequently, scattering ashes and sometimes cinders
throughout the domicil. Sometimes they thus assailed us while getting
breakfast. We consumed ashes plentifully in our breakfasts; we drank small
charcoal in our coffee; we found it in the bread. On cold mornings the
flapjacks would cool on one side ere they were baked on the other. A warm
meal was enjoyed only by placing the tin coffee-cup on the hot coals after
drinking, and a similar process was necessary with the other viands. The
“other viands” were generally bread, bacon, beans, and beef. It was peculiar
beef. It was beef fattened on oak leaves and bark. Perhaps some of you
California ancients may recollect the two consecutive rainless summers of
“ ’63” and “ ’64,” when tens of thousands of cattle were driven from the
totally dried-up plains into the mountains for feed.
During those years, at the Rock River ranch in Stanislaus County, where
the plains meet the first hummocks of the Nevada foothills, I have seen that
long, lean line of staggering, starving, dying kine stretching away as far as
the eye could reach, and at every hundred yards lay a dead or dying animal.
So they went for days, urged forward by the vaquero’s lash and their own
agony for something to eat. Even when they gained the grass of the
mountains it was only to find it all eaten off and the ground trodden to a
dry, red, powdery dust by the hungry legions which had preceded them. It
was a dreadful sight, for those poor brutes are as human in their sufferings
through deprivation of food and water, when at night they lay down and
moaned on the parched red earth, as men, women, and children would be.
Well, the strongest survived and a portion reached the country about Eureka
Valley. They came in, fed well during the summer, and one-third at least
never went out again. The vaqueros could not keep them together in that
rough country. They wandered about, climbed miles of mountain-sides,
found little plateaus or valleys hidden away here or there, where they
feasted on the rich “bunch grass.” They gained, by devious windings, high
mountain-tops and little nooks quite hidden from their keepers’ eyes and
quite past finding out. The herdsmen could not collect or drive them all out
in the fall. They were left behind. All went well with them until the first
snows of winter. Then instinctively those cattle sought to make their way
out of the mountain fastnesses. Instinctively, too, they travelled westward
toward the plains. And at the same time the first fall of snow was covered
with tracks of deer, bear and Indians, all going down to the warmer regions.
But the cattle were too late. Their progress was slow. More and more snow
came and they were stopped. Some thus impeded trod down the snow into a
corral, round which they tramped and tramped until they froze to death.
Some of these cattle were thus embayed along the track of the Sonora and
Mono road, and the white man making his way out was obliged to turn
aside, for the wide, sharp-horned beast “held the fort” and threatened
impalement to all that entered. Others, finding the south and sunny sides of
the mountains, lived there until February, browsing on the oak leaves and
bark. These we killed occasionally and buried the meat in the snow about
our house. But it was beef quite juiceless, tasteless, tough and stringy. It
was literally starvation beef for those who ate it, and the soup we made
from it was in color and consistency a thin and almost transparent fluid.
Foxes in abundance were about us, and they stayed all winter. They were
of all shades of color from red to grayish black. Now a story was current in
the mountains that black-fox skins commanded very high prices, say from
$80 to $100 each, and that “silvery-grays” would bring $25 or $30. So we
bought strychnine, powdered bits of beef therewith, scattered them
judiciously about the valley, and were rewarded with twenty or thirty dead
foxes by spring. It required many hours’ labor to dress a skin properly, for
the meat and fat must be carefully scraped away with a bit of glass, and if
that happened to cut through the hide your skin is good for nothing.
Certainly, at very moderate wages, each skin cost $7 or $8 in the labor
required to trap, or poison it, if you please, and to cure and dress it
afterward. When the gentle spring-time came and access was obtained to
certain opulent San Francisco furriers, we were offered $1.50 for the
choicest skins and 37-1/2 cents for the ordinary ones. Whereat the
mountaineer got on his independence, refused to sell his hard-earned
peltries at such beggarly prices, and kept them for his own use and
adornment.
Then our dogs too would wander off, eat the strychnined fox bait, and
become dead dogs. We had five when the winter commenced, which
number in the spring was reduced to one—the most worthless of all, and the
very one which we prayed might get poisoned. These dogs had plenty of
oak-bark fattened beef at home. They were never stinted in this respect.
What we could not eat—and the most of the beef we cooked we couldn’t
eat—we gave freely to our dogs. But that wouldn’t content the dog. Like
man, he had the hunting instinct in his nature. He wanted something new;
something rich, rare, racy, with a spice of adventure in it; something he
couldn’t get at home. He wanted to find a bit of frozen beef in some far-off
romantic spot a mile or two from the house and this on finding he would
devour, under the impression that stolen waters are sweet, and poisoned
beef eaten in secret is pleasant. And then he would lay himself down by the
frozen brookside and gently breathe his life away; or come staggering,
shaking, trembling home, under the action of the drug, and thus dashing in
our domestic circle scatter us to the four corners of the big log house,
thinking him a mad dog. I lost thus my own dog, “Put,” named briefly after
General Israel Putnam of the Revolution, a most intelligent animal of some
hybrid species; a dog that while alone in the mountains I could leave to
guard my camp, with a certainty that he would devour every eatable thing
left within his reach ere my return, and meet me afterward wagging his tail
and licking his chops, with that truthful, companionable expression in his
eye, which said plainer than words: “I’ve done it again, but it was so good.”
I shall never own another dog like “Put,” and I never want to. He would
climb a tree as far as one could hang a bit of bacon upon it. He would in
lonesome places keep me awake all night, growling and barking at
imaginary beasts, and then fraternize with the coyotes and invite them home
to breakfast. Near the Big Meadows, in Mono County, a disreputable
female coyote came down from a mountain side and followed “Put,” one
morning as I journeyed by on my borrowed steed, howling, yelping, and
filling the surrounding air with a viragoish clamor. I presume it was another
case of abandonment.
It was a winter of deathly quiet in Eureka Valley. Enveloped in snow, it
lay in a shroud. Occasionally a tempest would find its way into the gorge
and rampage around for a while, roaring through the pines and dislodging
the frozen lumps of snow in their branches, which whirled down, bang!
bang! bang! like so many rocks on our housetop. Sometimes we heard the
rumble of rocks or snowslides tumbling from the mountains. But usually a
dead, awful quiet prevailed. It wore on one worse than any uproar. No
sound from day to day of rumble or rattle of cart or wagon, no church bells,
no milkman’s bell, no gossip or chatter of inhabitants, no street for them to
walk down or gossip in, none of the daily clamor of civilized life save what
we made ourselves. It was a curious sensation to see one or both of my two
companions at a distance from the house. They looked such insignificant
specks in the whitened valley. And to meet the same man after four or five
hours of absence and to know that he had nothing new to tell, that he hadn’t
been anywhere in a certain sense, since without neighbors’ houses or
neighboring villages there was “nowhere” to get that sort of bracing-up that
one derives from any sort of companionship.
We were very cozy and comfortable during those long winter nights,
seated in the red glare of our rudely-built, wide-mouthed fireplace. But
sometimes, on a clear moonlight night, I have, for the sake of change, put
on the snowshoes and glided a few hundred yards away from the house. In
that intense and icy silence the beating of one’s heart could be distinctly
heard, and the crunching of the snow under foot sounded harsh and
disagreeable. All about the myriads of tall pines in the valley and on the
mountain-side were pointing straight to the heavens, and the crags in black
shadow above and behind them maintained also the same stern, unyielding
silence. The faintest whisper of a breeze would have been a relief. If you
gained an elevation it was but to see and feel more miles on miles of snow,
pines, peaks, and silence. Very grand, but a trifle awful; it seemed as if
everything must have stopped. In such isolation it was difficult to realize
that miles away were crowded, babbling, bustling, rallying, roaring cities,
full of men and women, all absorbed and intent on such miserably trifling
things as boots and shoes, pantaloons and breakfasts, suppers, beds, corsets,
and cucumbers. We were outside of creation. We had stepped off. We
seemed in the dread, dreary outer regions of space, where the sun had not
warmed things into life. It was an awful sort of church and a cold one. It
might not make a sceptic devotional; it would certainly cause him to
wonder where he came from or where he was going to. A half-hour of this
cold, silent Sierran winter morning was quite enough of the sublime. It sent
one back to the fireside with an increased thankfulness for such comforts as
coffee, tobacco, and warm blankets.
CHAPTER XXVII.